The Blue Truck

The Ex texted me the other day. Now, let me say that whenever I see his number [no his name is not stored in my phone] pop up on my screen, my stomach drops. I’m dreading even reading what it says. But of course, I can never just hit delete. And then, no matter what it says, I go through this internal struggle for DAYS as to whether I should reply. I mean, I know I SHOULDN’T reply. But, you know. It could be three days later and I’m still thinking that the window to reply without seeming desperate hasn’t closed yet.

Anyway, he texted me to tell me that his truck, the iconic blue truck of our relationship, ate shit. It died. He can no longer drive it. He thought I might want to know considering I had about as many memories in it as he did. Yeah, we had sex in a million different places in that truck. My ass honked the horn on a number of occasions. I gave him road head from the passenger seat more times than I could count. [God, I was selfless. And he was lucky.] But you know what? I actually didn’t need too be reminded of that. The more selfless thing to do on his part would have been to refrain from texting his ex-girlfriend. So, instead of saying all the things I could have said, I was the one who refrained from texting. I’m not saying it wasn’t hard. But I did it for many reasons.

One. Talking to an ex of that magnitude is never good. Unless you’re getting back together. Which you probably shouldn’t be doing. If it didn’t work, it’s not going to. But that’s a whole other can of worms. Basically, in my situation, I shouldn’t be talking to him.

Two. I feel that it’s disrespectful to my current boyfriend, SC, whom I love with all my heart, to carry on a conversation which would surely have developed into reminiscing about a truck that was intricately involved in our relationship. We went everywhere in that thing. And let’s just face it, that would have led to reminiscing about sex. Which, absolutely disrespectful.

Three. Because he texted me, I know he still has feelings for me. And yes, they’re probably always going to be there. But he’s thinking about me and so he’s probably struggling. He probably felt really guilty as well as bad about himself for even sending that text. By not texting him back, I’m letting him off easy. I’m taking those words and I’m staying silent. I’m not giving him anything else to brood over. It’s not worth it.

But in the end, all I was really thinking was, “THANK GOD! Now I don’t have to turn my head at Every. Damn. BLUE FUCKING TRUCK that passes by wondering if it’s him.” Now, I don’t have to think about him at all. That was the last of him on my mind, and as long as these texts eventually stop coming I’ll stop thinking about him [mostly] entirely.